The Sodom and Gomorrah Show
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: The Winchesters get mistaken for a gay couple in the center of Redneck, Middle of Nowhere, which of course means Dean get into a fight. Because the Winchesters are totally gay. For each other. What else is new?


A/N This piece is once again devoted to my awesome beta, who read all of my drafts and was awesome. Rating is T, but there are some adult themes glosses over by humor here, so if you have sensitive morals, please be advised. Otherwise, enjoy the humor! Inspired by an actual restaurant that was just as creepy.

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It all started in the craziest of places, which was saying something considering all of the weird shit Sam, in his short and terror-filled life, had seen.

The bar slash grill slash biker hangout they walked (more like stumbled) into was the only one open Thursday night in the middle of nowhere, Michigan, a harmless looking ma and pa establishment with white trim and wooden siding nestled between a run-down Walgreens and what seemed like a McDonald's (but looked suspiciously like the abandoned building they cased three towns ago)

If it had been up to Sam, they would've kept driving. There were no motels nearby, and sleep was the only thing he could really accomplish anything at anymore. Not to mention his appetite had disappeared weeks ago and had stayed gone long after the second trial.

Which is kind of his Sam found himself getting dragged by an overenthusiastic Dean to go eat at ten at night.

With a cheerful parallel parking demonstration later, they were walking through the wet parking lot towards the entrance. Sam shivered as the wind hit him just the right way, pulling his two sweaters and jacket tighter around his shoulders as Dean held the door for him.

"Thanks." He murmured. Dean shot him a quick smile, entirely too pleased with himself that he'd convinced Sam to eat. Which still might not happen, considering the headache and nausea he could still feel.

They walked in and Sam felt his eyes widen, nearly tripping while simultaneously craning his neck to see better.

It was kind of like watching a car accident, the decor was that bad. Antlers covered nearly every inch of the place, stacked and hung and shoved in almost every nook and available cranny. Dean let out an impressed whistle next to him, tilting his head backwards to look at the monster stuffed deer hanging above the door, dull eyes staring straight down into Sam's. It was flocked by a good dozen or two of antlers, the random stuffed rodent making an appearance between the bony protrusions. Leather and other assorted skins were pinned up on random walls, layering the restaurant. Sam merely gaped, following Dean to the Hostess's counter with his eyes still on the ceiling.

"Dude, this place is sweet." Dean said next to him in awe, barely taking his eyes off the animals to peer at the pretty waitress leading them to their seats who chattered aimlessly to them. Sam shook his head, rolling his shoulders back and cringing as they passed what had to be a stuffed, two-headed calf.

They sat at a table in the back, one that Sam knew instinctively would be happy with. Back to the wall, Sam took the left seat and Dean the right.

"Hi, my name is Wanda and I'll be your server today." The blonde waitress purred, leaning forward and pushing her chest up. Dean smiled right on cue, but his eyes were still taking in the rest of the room. He looked like a kid at Disney world (which spoke worlds about his current mental state). Sam couldn't take his eyes off the walls either, but that was for different reasons.

Which weren't fear or anything.

"Our specials today are grilled ribeye, strawberry coleslaw and chili cheese fries. Can I get you boys anything to drink before you order?" Wanda handed them two menus, leaving a hand on Dean's shoulder just a second too long. She put two cups of water down on the table in front of them.

"Whatever's on tap." Dean gave her a slow smile, disgusting, masculine charm rolling off of him in sleazy waves. Sam cleared his throat, wrapping his sweater closer around his shoulders.

Dean caught his eye and the charm dropped from his face like a discarded mask. He turned back to the waitress, giving her a genuine smile this time.

"Could he maybe have some tea?" It was spoken quietly, but he knew Dean was anything but embarrassed. Sam could see almost the precise second the waitress understood, lines tightening on her face.

"Sure, hon. He okay?" She gestured towards Sam with a hip, giving his brother an appraising look. Dean nodded, slapping Sam (Gently, thank god) on the back and winking. Sam leaned back into the touch a little, grateful that even now Dean would walk into the sleaziest of bars and order Sam tea if he needed it.

"Just a cold. Thanks, sweetheart."

Wanda nodded and walked off with their order, sending Sam a small smile and tucking the sheet into her apron. Dean leaned back in his seat and sighed, shooting Sam a shit-eating grin.

"What?" Sam asked after a long moment of silence. He was tired of the 'there's something on your face and I'm not telling you where' game. Had been tired of it since fourth grade, actually.

Dean's smile grew wider as he pointed just above Sam's left shoulder. "Dude. There's a big-ass bear right above your head."

Sam raised an eyebrow, turning to find that, sure enough, smokey was a good three inches from the top of his head. He repressed another shudder as a wave of whatever the taxidermist had used to petrify the poor animal hit him, making his stomach roll. He sat down with a disgusted glance at the ceiling and then one at his still-amused brother.

Dean didn't seem to notice, cracking his knuckles on the table along with whatever nameless eighties rock was playing over the speakers. "I'll say it again. This is awesome."

"Dean."

His brother shifted. "What?"

Sam pointed to the display case near the door. "There's a polar bear in a cage."

"So?"

Sam sighed. "I dunno, it's just...wrong. There should be some law against it, animal rights or something." He wasn't making any sense.

Dean seemed to ponder this. "It's a little freaky, I'll give you that. What, don't like the place?"

Sam resisted the urge to huddle even further into his sweater and shot Dean a glare. "No."

Wanda came over before Dean could respond, setting Dean's beer in front of him and balancing a whole tea tray in front of Sam. She'd even managed to find him a small box of sugar and what looked like cream, settling it down with a pat on his shoulder.

"Now honey, you need anything at all, you just gimme a ring, kay? Sugar's in the right container and cream's on the left." She waved at Dean. "I'll be back for your orders in just a second. You drink up and feel better now."

Sam half-heartedly glanced at the menu, hunger nonexistent as always, though he was pretty sure he wouldn't have eaten anyways. He shrugged as Dean sat straighter and raised an eyebrow, own menu forgotten.

"What're you gonna get?" His brother leaned forward, butting into Sam's personal space. Sam could smell the beer on his breath and wrinkled his nose. The trials combined with being sick messed with his senses, amplifying and distorting sometimes them while dampening them others.

"What are you going to get?" He parried back, though they both know the answer. It's almost always the same. "Road kill, maybe?"

"Haha." Dean mock laughed, leaning back. "I was thinking maybe some snake, actually. Looks fresh today."

Sam nodded seriously. "Oh, totally."

The restaurant around them was strangely busy for the hour, full of families and couples and the always-present rural biker gang. The food looked good, though, steaming and sizzling as the servers carried plates out of the antler-buried kitchen. Sam felt his stomach rumble ever so softly and forced himself to look through the menu again. He could handle something light, maybe.

"Hi guys, I'm back to take your orders, if y'all are ready." He looked up to see Wanda at the side of the table, pen in hand. Dean gave him a pointed look that had Sam sighing. The day Dean stopped mother-henning him while he was sick would be a sight to see.

"I'll have the roadhouse burger with fries," Dean threw her a quick smile, folding the menu and handing it forwards. "Thanks sweetheart."

Sam cleared his throat, but this time because there actually was something caught there. He repressed another cough and wrinkled his nose. Probably blood.

Which he was used to, at this point. Sadly.

"I'll have the Caesar salad, please." He said as politely as possible, raising his eyebrows at Dean as if to say 'So there'.

Dean raised a finger, stopping the waitress. "With a side of chicken, if you can."

Sam glared at him across the table. "It's fine. I don't want the chicken."

"You're getting the chicken." His tone booked absolutely no argument. They stared at each other for a long moment before Sam relented, handing his menu forward.

"Got it. Your orders'll be up in a half hour or so." Wanda looked up from her notepad, flashing Sam a warm smile before heading off to the kitchen. How anyone could be so comfortable in a place like this, Sam didn't know.

"How are you feeling?"

Sam barely looked up as Dean spoke, trying to avoid the argument he knew was coming. "Fine."

"Uh huh. No more blood? No coughing? You're a hundred percent cured all of sudden?"

He knew how worried his brother was, which was why the words didn't sting as much as they should've. Anyone could see it from the looks and body language Dean was displaying. Sam sighed and shook his head, finally lifting his eyes to Dean's. He was tired and cold, and really just wanted to go sleep forever someplace that didn't have thousands of dead animals inside of it.

"I'm okay."

He could feel Dean's disapproval from across the table, simmering like it did whenever Sam pissed him off as kids, but he didn't take the bait. After a long moment, his brother leaned back with another sigh and Sam steeled himself for whatever argument they were going to start.

"You've still got that attitude problem. Jesus."

Relief poured through Sam as he reached out and smacked him on the shoulder, grinning slightly as Dean gave up the subject. "Jerk."

Dean smirked, drawing out the word. "Bitch."

So what if it felt like a script. Maybe arguing over salad was theirs in the crazy world that was their life.

Both of them settled back more comfortably after that, taking in the seemingly endless supply of creatures and body parts that littered the place. Sam noticed a bunch of pulleys and ropes hanging down above the bar and frowned, making a note to ask Wanda about it next time she came over.

"Aren't you gonna drink your tea, princess?"

Sam glared at Dean but very obviously tipped some hot water into a cup, secretly reveling in the rush of hot air that flowed upwards. Even if he hadn't really been hunting lately, being on the road had been hard, and the heat relaxed the almost constant headache slightly.

He'd have to ask Dean to get a humidifier for his room back at the bunker or something. Being warm was awesome.

All the bar apparently seemed to have was lemon tea, so Sam threw the tea bag in and stirred in a couple sugar packets, removing the spoon after a minute of steeping and cautiously taking a sip.

It was surprisingly good for bar tea, not like he'd made a habit of drinking Earl Grey everywhere they'd went, though. Dean was looking at him dubiously from across the table when he looked up again, playing with the edge of his sleeve absently.

"You're supposed to steep it longer." He said.

Sam snorted. "I didn't know you knew that word, Dean." His laugh was punctuated by the ever-present cough he seemed to possess, but Dean still looked amused.

"Otherwise it gets watery. And why the hell did you put so much sugar in anyways? You trying to give yourself a heart attack?" They both avoided eye contact at that one, mood tightening fractionally. Knowing their luck, Sam would probably end up having a heart attack sooner of later.

"Do you mean diabetes?" Sam said. "And why do you know so much about tea in the first place?"

Dean shot him a look. "Who do you think's been taking care of you your whole life, dumbo? NannyMcPhee?"

Sam laughed and was about to comment on Dean's reference when a sharp burst of noise exploded within the diner. He looked up just in time to see a red flash of light start up that had him flinching with repressed hell-memories. He and Dean both leapt up, Dean reaching for his gun and Sam scrabbling at the place his used to be.

They both breathed hard, trying to identify what in the hell had happened when Sam realized what had happened. He felt like smacking himself in the face. Repeatedly.

"Sit down." He told his brother quickly, praying they hadn't been seen as he found his discarded chair. Dean had had at least the common sense to hold his gun closer to the floor and mostly out of sight.

Dean seemed to shrug the whole thing off, tucking the weapon away and making a face at Sam. "Weird."

"You're telling-"

This time the whole restaurant shuddered with the amount of noise bursting to life. Sam bit his lip in pain as what sounded like sixteen tornado sirens all went off simultaneously, winding and out of key. Sharp bells and train whistles went off intermittently, creating a cacophony of horrifying noise as the red light at the front of the bar spun again.

The table rocked under Sam's hand and he turned to find Dean clenching the table harshly, lips white as he pressed them together. Sam could see the tremors in his other hand easily from where he was standing, and he couldn't remember the last time noise like this had scared both of them. Maybe right after hell?

Purgatory, for Dean?

Damn it. He knew purgatory would sneak back in like this, when Dean was tired and emotional and stressed. He had no expectations that his brother would ever be the same, just like Sam couldn't be after hell. Regardless of them coming back to each other, they weren't the same people.

"Dean." He said softly, reaching a slow hand across the table and putting it on top of Dean's. He felt the tremors but didn't say anything else, stroking the hand and trying like ever-loving fuck to reassure his brother. The last thing they needed was for him to jump up and shoot some kid.

The bell siren combo was still going strong as he held onto his brother's hand, like screeching nails on chalkboards accompanied by the screams of the damned with a little Rebecca Black thrown in.

Frankly, it was the worst thing Sam had ever heard.

He spotted Wanda walking around and threw a hand up, flagging down the waitress. Wanda looked entirely too relaxed as she came over to their table.

"How can I help you boys? Everything good with your drinks so far?" She sounded genuinely concerned as she shouted over the wailing sirens, but perfectly at ease. Sam gave her a strained smile, pointing at the pulleys he'd seen earlier. He felt Dean tug at his hand and almost whimpered at the movement.

"What are those sirens for? Is there a tornado nearby or something?"

Wanda's face lit up, surprising Sam with the amount of enthusiasm she was able to convey in one movement. "Aren't they great? We use them for parties and birthdays. They're sort of a bells and whistle show, restaurant tradition since fifty two." She paused, casting a strange look where to Sam was still holding Dean's hand.

"Actually, I was gonna come over and tell you about them, with you bein' sick and all. They're a little noisy, but the kids get a kick outta 'em, specially for birthdays." With that she was off again, small frame disappearing into the kitchen.

Sam looked around to see that the whole restaurant was enjoying the show, pointing up at the bells with glee as the tornado siren from hell kept winding on. There were even small kids laughing, looking up at the light in the bar with happy smiles. Sam flinched as a particularly sharp burst hit, feeling the movement echoed in Dean.

After a moment the noise finally cut off, leaving Dean trembling slightly and Sam only a few steps above that. When they had gotten to the point of freaking out over sharp noises in public, Sam didn't know.

"You okay?" He asked softly, peering at his brother as Dean didn't take his hand back. He squeezed his hand reassuringly, hoping.

"...Yeah." Dean coughed, voice a little unsteady as he took his hand away. "Just took me by surprise a little. I'm good."

He seemed to realize what he'd said, or maybe his pride finally kicked in. "Actually, no. What the hell was that?"

Sam shrugged. "Restaurant tradition, apparently." His outrage would've been funny any other day, but Sam could still feel his own hands trembling and knew he wasn't that much better.

"That's a jacked up tradition. What, the animals weren't creepy enough?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you admit they're creepy."

Dean shook his head. "This is one weird-ass place, Sammy. I don't like it."

Sam took a sip of tea, thankful if hadn't been knocked over. "You were the one who wanted to eat here."

Dean seemed to be rethinking that. "I don't think-" He cut off with a muttered curse as a short whistle went off, hand flinching automatically to Sam's.

"God fucking damn it, I am so DONE with this!"

Sam noticed a couple of stares (Okay, a lot) thrown their way and realized his brother was likely to piss off someone if he didn't shut up.

"Dean. It's just the whistle for food at the counter." He squeezed his brother's hand, leaning in and trying to be quiet. "People are staring."

Dean seemed to notice the stares and settled down, grumbling. "Damn straight they're staring. They'd have to be some kind of weird or crazy to sit through dinner here."

"Dean!" Sam hissed as Wanda sashayed over with what looked like their food. "Shut up!"

Wanda's eyebrows raised as she saw their hands linked again. Sam watched a myriad of emotions flash across her face and groaned internally. Why did this always happen to-

"Here's your food, boys." Her smile was strained as she set Dean's burger and Sam's salad down on the table. "If there's anything else I can get you, let me know."

Wanda was bright red as she walked off, blonde head ducking into the kitchen as fast as possible. Sam released Dean's hand and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Dig in, Sammy." Sam looked up to see Dean attempting a smirk around half of his burger. Sam's stomach rolled, but he picked up his fork anyways.

"Mhmm." He said unenthusiastically, taking a bite. The dressing wasn't half bad, but the lettuce was limp and musty tasting. He managed a few more pieces of lettuce and a bite of chicken, smiling for Dean's benefit and trying to force the food down.

Dean looked happy with his burger and they ate almost contentedly for a few minutes. Sam was about to pick up his tea again when a red light caught his eye.

"Dean, they're about to pull the whistles again." He warned his brother, suspicions confirmed as a kid wearing a birthday hat clapped and pointed at the light. Just before the sirens went off this time, Dean grabbed Sam's hand across the table and squeezed. Surprised, he squeezed back.

They managed to get through the five minutes it took to entertain the kid without incident, though Dean's knuckles were still white when the whistles tapered off. His face was expressionless, and if Sam hasn't been holding his hand the whole time, he wouldn't have guessed the noise bothered Dean at all.

Sam turned as a very pointed cough sounded from behind him. An old man was sitting a few feet away, leather jacket telling all of Bumfuck, Nowhere that he was part of a biker gang. He was frowning at Sam, chewing a toothpick absently between two yellow teeth.

Sam stared. "Can I help you?"

The jacket had his name stitched across the front, spelling out 'Smoky Jim' in red against the harsh leather. Smoky Jim cleared his throat again and looked down at the table where Sam still held Dean's hand.

"Oh, come on." Sam muttered to himself, incredulous. Smoky Jim kept staring, fellow gang members tossing Sam threatening looks in between sips of beer.

Surprisingly (Or maybe unsurprisingly) Dean was the one who spoke up, leaning across the table to stare Smokey Jim in the eye.

"Is there a problem?" Sam tried to pull his hand out of Dean's, but now it wasn't even about comfort. Now it was about display.

"No problem, son." Smokey Jim had a cracked, ugly voice, marred from years of obvious smoking. "The boys and I were just a little curious."

"Curious." Dean bristled, jaw clenching. "About what?"

A nasty smile spread across Jim's face and all of his friends leaned in.

"How much you paid your little sweetheart there, dickless."

They all burst into laughter, slapping knees and finding it three times more hilarious than it really was. Sam saw anger flash across Dean's face and tried to grab his arm before he did something he probably shouldn't.

"Haha." Dean laughed along, standing up before Sam could reach him. "How about I come over there and pay you a little-"

"Dean, stop." He managed to pull his brother back by the corner of his jacket. Sam lowered his voice. "What the hell, man? We don't get into fights anymore."

Dean was seething. "Jimmy over here needs a clock in the face. Tell me it ain't true."

Sam pushed him into his seat (Or tried to, at least). "Yes, he's a homophobic asshole, but we need to eat tonight, and you can't do that if you're brawling on the ground with some wannabe biker."

Smoky Jim blew them a kiss as all of his biker buddies laughed. Sam felt his cheeks flush but kept a hand on Dean, turning away and back to his salad.

"Hey! Your girlfriend calm you down? Sweetie, why you ain't lettin' your man fight? He even a man?"

The gang burst into manic laughter as Dean leapt up, "Oh that's it, fucker." He jumped forward, slamming his fist into Smoky Jim's face as the older man kept laughing. He tumbled to the ground, head knocking into the side of one of the chairs.

Smoky Jim got up a moment later, blood dripping from his nose and a cut below his eye. Sam stumbled to his feet as the whole restaurant went quiet, waiting.

Dean was breathing heavily, perching on the balls of his feet for the next hit. Even Sam could see the punch coming from a mile away, standing a few feet behind his brother in case Dean needed help.

"Fuck you, fairy." Smoky Jim's fist missed Dean, sailing past until the man nearly tripped. Dean feinted and then came up with a hard uppercut, sending the older man to the floor with a hushed grunt.

Sam took a quick look at the guy's buddies, but they all seemed to back up a step. Dean straightened his jacket and sat down, picking up his beer and taking a long sip.

Sam shot the restaurant a semi-apologetic look before sitting down. Nobody spoke as someone walked forward and helped Jim off the floor.

Eventually, one of the kids at a table in the front laughed and the background chatter resumed. Dean kept his head down in front of his plate and didn't look up at Sam.

Wanda made her way over after five minutes, tapping Sam lightly on the arm. She looked flustered and highly uncomfortable.

"Um, I've never done this before." She trailed off. "But I'm gonna have to ask you guys to leave."

"Why's that." Dean stated dully, eyes still on his plate.

Wanda looked to the left, not meeting Dean's eyes. "There's been complaints."

Sam's lip curled as Smoky Jim sat back down at his table, nose swelling under an ice pack and cheek still covered on blood. He shot Wanda an appraising look, settling back like a teacher grading a student. The effect was only slightly ruined by the ice pack.

Sam nudged Dean who finally looked up, spotting Smoky Jim's smug smile instantly. The two locked eyes, and Dean looked murderous.

"Oh, tattling, that's nice." Dean muttered under his breath.

"Sorry?" Wanda asked nervously, twining a hand in her blonde hair.

Dean shook his head. "Nothing, sweetheart."

His eyes narrowed as he turned back to Wanda, avoiding eye contact with the smug bastard.

Sam interrupted before Dean could grumble any more. "We'll go. Sorry." He opened his wallet and threw three twenties down on the table, grabbing his jacket and throwing it on. Dean glared at him from across the table but got up as well, passing Wanda and following Sam out of the main section of the restaurant.

As soon as they made it to the small foyer Dean stopped. Sam walked a few more paces before he realized he'd left his brother behind, stopping right next to the window.

"You good?"

Dean's jaw flexed, but the skin around his eyes relaxed and his posture loosened. "Yeah. It's just, with you sick and we can't even get dinner..."

Sam summed it up. "It sucks."

Dean shrugged. "Time to find a motel, then." He peered around Sam's shoulder, frowning when he saw the window. Apparently, to add insult to injury, it was now raining.

"I'm gonna bring the car around so you don't get sick. You got your knife?"

Sam nodded. Dean hadn't allowed him to carry a gun anywhere.

"Good. Keep it in your sleeve, just in case." With that he was out the door, sprinting to the Impala with one hand keeping his jacket closed and one over his head.

Sam shook his head affectionately at the sight and leaned against the wall. He could feel the cold creeping in even from inside, chilling him to the bone. Dean was right about him going outside. He'd get sicker for sure.

It couldn't have been more than thirty seconds Dean had been gone when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Sam spun and tried to dislodge the grip, but whoever it was had bones like iron.

Smoky Jim breathed alcohol-laced breath all over Sam, pressing him even further against the wall. Sam kicked out on instinct, catching him in the ribs with a satisfying THWACK.

He tried to call out for Dean, but embarrassingly enough the biker got a tough hold around his throat, pressing harshly into the soft skin there.

"I was gonna go after your boyfriend." He slurred around his broken nose, eyes glassy as he leaned forward. "But I saws ya here, and thought, m'be I could get a little present.. He gestured at his nose and then moved his hand down in a sharp gesture.

"You know, a little...wha's that word? Recompense. So, you gotta gimme what you was gonna give him, 'cept for free, m'kay?"

Sam kicked out again, but apparently Jim had some fighting experience after all. The biker caught his foot and twisted. Sam fell to the floor on the ankle awkwardly, pain lancing up his leg. Smoky Jim was probably too drunk to even remember he was there, swaying above him in a way that meant he was gonna get horizontal soon.

He reached up and grabbed the wall, pulling himself high enough to sock the man in his already broken nose. Smoky Jim let out a grunt of pain before falling to the ground.

"Sam? Sammy!"

Sam sighed in relief as Dean ran into the foyer, drenched and panicky. He knelt next to Sam quickly, checking him over before anything was said.

"The fuck happened?" Dean was staring at Smoky Jim's unconscious form a few feet over with something Sam believed was satisfaction.

Sam coughed, praying he wouldn't see blood on his sleeve. "Stop...fighting people. They always beat on me."

Dean gave an indignant squawk. "They do not!"

Sam nodded seriously. "And they always choke me, too. Stop pissing people off. Jesus."

"You're joking, right?" Dean looked almost worried, which was kinda adorable. "You're not actually mad at me, right?"

Sam shook his head, reaching a hand out and trying to stand up. Dean gave him a boost, hands moving automatically to his waist and shoulder. Sam winced as the muscles in his neck pulled, but he managed to make it up.

Dean led them out to the idling car, tucking Sam into his seat while he shielded him from the rain. Sam breathed easier when he was sitting upright, already feeling ten times better. Even his throat was feeling better. Adrenaline, maybe?

Dean was just pulling them out if the parking lot when the distinct sound of multiple Harleys echoed across to them. Sam groaned, but Dean seemed oddly happy.

"What?" He asked.

Dean didn't say anything, just gunned the Impala down the road like he was daring the gang to follow. Apparently, the bikers were equally enthusiastic, because they followed.

"You ready for some fun, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, grinning to himself. "We're not actually road racing a rural biker gang, right?"

"Well, when you say it like that..." Dean pulled sharply off to the right when they rounded the first corner, flashing all of the lights off and turning the car off. The bikers sped by, thundering down the road.

"Motel now? Sam asked, feeling the night's events catch up to him. He wanted to crawl into a bed someplace non-homophobic and sleep for a year.

Dean executed a beautiful Y-turn and pulled out into a freeway ramp a few blocks ahead, giving Sam a small smile.

"Motel now."

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A/N Leave me a review?:)


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